no gentler master that the leash

Working class pride, fuck that,
no gentler master that the leash, uh?

vomit-stained shirt and conscience -
so you fell down in the bowling alley?
well, fuck me if I care -
have you seen the despair in the faces
of the young unemployable parents
pushing the pram targetless?

where's the leash gone then?

Hoarders, they just want to dance
the harsh brightness away.

Push ahead and destroy all of them
holy books.
We were smoking grass outside the disco,
summer was residing outskirts back then -
the fire of boredom
comfortably sitting at the family's library.

Fuck the Absolutes you bring!
I disdain your certainty.
Hunter gatherers, nothing left to hunt
and scant debris for gathering.

The not-so-hidden excitation
in the halls of violence to be exerted
over minds, rather than bodies,
until reduced.

Your loneliness is not yours anymore.
The state has taken it under its careful watch.

"you should be fired, as your heart is not set
on your job."

The biggest room in my house
are the deserted avenues in my memories
of cities I once were to, or maybe
I didn't.


to dream that she was with me,
she's with me,
I convince myself I had a dream,
that I always had it anyway,
that it was mine,
but it seems there's a hand here in the room with me
- hidden hand with a hidden agenda -

there are no more doubts in us,
as all the room left was filled with
plastic trinkets from China.

A shine that takes hundreds of minutes.
I am shipwrecked and trying to hold to slippery rocks.
How fucking narcissistic of us all of this
posing and behaving.

Explode the lamp in my desk.
Burn the desk.

Go deliver water to the thirsty,
and hugs to the lonely children.